


Tug of War

by kuwdora



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Breathplay, M/M, PWP, Porn Battle VIII, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-20
Updated: 2009-06-20
Packaged: 2018-01-27 21:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1723787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuwdora/pseuds/kuwdora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only stripped to the waist, Mohinder felt more naked, more exposed when he knew that Sylar could see, feel<i> the battle of wills going on inside his head.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Tug of War

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Porn Battle VIII](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/10575.html) prompt: telepathy, now with fewer missing words and chunky unedited sentences. It would not be a proper porn battle unless I wrote these two.

_Mohinder_ …

Mohinder’s eyes were not the windows to his soul but that didn’t keep him from closing them in self-defense nonetheless. _Mohinder…_ Sylar purred again, tickling his skull from the inside out as teeth raked across his collarbone. He wasn’t surprised that it failed to keep Sylar at bay, but he was still embarrassed. Only stripped to the waist, Mohinder felt more naked, more exposed when he knew that Sylar could see, _feel_ the battle of wills going on inside his head. Sylar lazily dragged his hand up and down his side, obviously relishing the tug of war between _fear_ and _want_ , desperation and neediness pulling on one side, wanting the comfort and pleasures of the hand resting on his hip while the overwhelming strength of guilt and disgust pulled on the other, wishing for the chance to roll away and seek refuge in a cold shower.

He writhed, reaching up to push him off and got as far as clasping the side of his neck. The sandpaper grain beneath his palm was disconcerting and yet he found himself surprised by the allure of Sylar’s thrumming pulse. It was hot, steady, _alive_... unlike so many of his victims. Sylar deliberately swallowed and pressed himself into his loose grip, playing into the hand, the dark fantasy Mohinder never gave conscious thought to… until now, apparently, because Sylar hummed _oh_ so invitingly, the vibration making his fingers tingle. It’d be far too easy to squeeze for a few minutes and call it a night, the battle won. But curiosity got the better of him.

Mohinder slowly opened his eyes to stare, feeling Sylar’s knees straddle him, squeezing for balance Mohinder knows he doesn’t need. Sylar cupped his hand, tracing his knuckles with the pads of his fingers and managed to give him an insufferable smile he assumed to be encouraging. He twisted his wrist, pressing his thumb up into Sylar’s jaw, trying to shove the grin back where it came from. Sylar closed his eyes, lips parting for air that wasn’t coming because Mohinder increased pressure on his throat. Sylar threw even more of his weight into his hand and held onto his forearm with both hands. The quickening pace of his pulse was more encouraging than any smile.

His skin crawled, buzzing in anticipation from the straining tendons in Sylar’s neck and burning in his own arm that kept him upright. Sylar’s eyes never wavered from his, brown eyes being swallowed by the ever expanding pupils. The sight, the sensations were far more pleasant than Mohinder never imagined. Sylar’s hands glided down the length of Mohinder’s arm to slide up his bicep and rubbed his shoulder in a way that Mohinder almost deemed as affectionate but that didn’t feel right and it certainly wasn’t a type of a wrong he wanted indulge. He crossed his chest to remove the hand from his shoulder and there— _finally_ he felt it; the quick snap of his jaw and muffled sound of Sylar trying to gasp. Mohinder’s subdued shock propelled him enough to lift his head from the pillow in time to get a better angle. Sylar’s eyes slanted closed, tears leaking from the corners, rolling down in slow motion, his lower lips quivering, tinged a purple’ish blue.

Sylar clenched onto Mohinder’s free hand and promptly crushed his fingers, clearly using none of his offensive abilities to get the upper hand. His heart skipped a beat when Sylar sank onto his waist, not grinding, not groping but _pressing_ ; pressing their crotches together, pressing his neck further into Mohinder’s hand, loosely twining his fingers in Mohinder’s other hand and pressing it to the bed. The action stunned him enough that he broke eye contact and wasn’t able keep his arm from unlocking. His elbow pressed into the bed, lowering Sylar enough that he was mere inches from his face. Mohinder inhaled and met Sylar’s heavily lidded eyes again. Sylar coughed, or tried to at least, but the sound he made was the last thing Mohinder could handle. He loosened his grip around Sylar’s neck with the intention of scooting out from beneath him but somehow his other hand traced the salty trail from eye to jaw, his thumb taking a detour of it’s own accord to rest on Sylar’s lips.

Mohinder shuddered, hot breath on his fingers and face making him squirm but Sylar’s weight gave him no room to move. Sylar grabbed his wrist and held it still, tongue tentatively dabbing at fingers until Mohinder laid back again and slid his thumb into Sylar’s mouth, pressing firmly down on the tongue that curled around it. His eyes fell closed as Sylar gently sucked, cheeks tightening, teeth grazing like the serrated edge of a butter knife. Sylar took his thumb in deeper and shifted his hips, painfully aware of how raw Mohinder was beneath the layers of denim and khaki. It empancipated a groan that had been fighting to break free since Sylar began picking through his mind like it was a clearance sale.

As his limbs started to feel weary, Sylar kneaded his hand and forearm after removing the finger from his mouth. Mohinder kept his eyes closed and allowed Sylar’s hands to roam the length of his arm and chest, trying not to miss the way the heat of Sylar’s tongue made him ache for more. Sylar put his arm at his side and traced his torso with fanned fingers. Mohinder peeked through slitted eyes at the dark head that dipped low, lips pressing against his chest, lining him with biting kisses to all the way his navel.

“You don’t have to say it aloud,” Sylar said, the words hot and unmistakably foreign against his stomach, knowing full well the pinch of skin between teeth and tongue lolling on his abdomen rendered Mohinder speechless. He couldn’t even string the vowels and consonants together in his head, words becoming farther removed the more Sylar teased.

He exhaled and carded Sylar’s hair, absently tracing the collar of his shirt, the back of his neck, the curve of his shoulder blade that must have been too warm underneath the cotton. Sylar nipped him hard enough to bruise and before Mohinder eke out a protest, Sylar rose to his knees and cast the t-shirt aside.

Sylar sat still, hands resting comfortably on his own thighs, watching Mohinder patiently. The blood vessels in his neck had already repaired themselves but the faint tear streaks remained, cresting each side of his face; the ultimate display of affection that Mohinder never imagined. He reached for Sylar and tugged him forward, letting the wanton visuals finally float to the surface.


End file.
